Twilight Sparkle Vs. The Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry

by Estee

Rating: teen
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, Rainbow Dash
Length: 15604

What gives ponies the right to place a pattern among the stars? And when they do... what kind of emotion draws the lines?

All Rainbow wanted to do was give her friends what she saw as the ultimate gift: the placement of their marks within the night sky. But the offer was a lie. And after Twilight finds out what happened with Rainbow's trial run, she heads off to confront the con artists and get Rainbow's bits back. After all, nopony can just go and create an official constellation just because they feel like it.

But recovering the money isn't that simple.

And neither are constellations.

(Part of the Triptych Continuum, which has its own TVTropes page and FIMFiction group: new members and trope edits are welcome. However, this story can be read as a stand-alone, with no knowledge of the others required -- and while it's technically a sequel, it's not necessary to have read the previous story first.)

Now with author Patreon, SubscribeStar, and Ko-Fi pages.

Published 2015-07-14 13:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-14 13:50:01 UTC

Drawn In Hope

The second unusual event of the night was finding Rainbow already waiting at the top of the hill.

Twilight's field was towing quite a few objects behind the slightly-built unicorn, the majority of which the weather coordinator had requested for what promised to be a highly unusual meeting -- but the librarian had added a few on her own. Namely, the picnic blanket, the lantern, two bottles of ink, fifteen scrolls, and seven published research texts which she was almost ready to begin rebuking. Altogether, it had seemed like just enough potential material to consume the gap between the time Rainbow had promised to arrive and whenever the pegasus, delayed by meal-mooching, naps, the occasional fight (picked and non), or just a very short-term, oft-relapsed case of amnesia which completely removed any ability to remember what the word "appointment" meant, actually showed up.

But Rainbow was already there, feathers vibrating with poorly-repressed excitement as she watched Twilight crest the rise. A first time for everything and in this case, a first on-time.

"Right on time!" Rainbow half-crowed, mantle and scapulars now humming along at different rates as every part of her remained completely unaware of the irony. "Fantastic! -- so how long does it take to set all this stuff up?" She briefly glanced down at the grass, and Twilight saw what seemed to be the edge of something flat pressing part of it down: finer details were impossible to make out under waning spring Moon. "Because I think there might be a little bit of a deadline here..." The next glance went up. "We're okay for clouds. And I mean that we wouldn't have been, except I took care of everything before you got here, and I rerouted the prevailing current a little to not bring anything fresh in, so we've really got to get this done before anypony else on the weather team notices because -- I didn't exactly file that in advance." And a quick look past Twilight's narrow back. "What's up with all the books?"

"I... um..." The field bubble pinched inwards, divided itself into four smaller semi-spheres, and Twilight sent the extra reading material behind the nearest tree -- which still took far too much time: this particular hill crest was covered in nothing more than gently-waving grass and the occasional pressed-down section where ponies had used the location as a meeting place for something other than -- well, Rainbow had made it very clear just why they were meeting here (which had been the first shock of the young night), and naturally that other reason wasn't it. But with this hill, the treeline started about eight body lengths below them, and Twilight lost a degree of aim as that particular bubble drifted out of sight, wincing as she felt the field's border impact bark just a little faster than she would have liked. "...nothing."

"Extra references?" Rainbow glanced down again. "Don't need 'em. Just set up, Twilight, best viewing time is supposed to be in a few minutes..."

The relieved unicorn nodded and the field got to work, with Rainbow watching every adjustment with a mix of open impatience and interest. The impatience was completely normal. The other part...

Twilight had to ask. (There had been no initial opportunity: the request to meet had been shouted in from the balcony, and all confused responses beyond the initial "...yes?" had been shouted in the general direction of a fading prismatic contrail.) "Rainbow, you know I don't mind doing this --"

"-- of course you don't," the pegasus grinned. "That's why you're the perfect pony to do this with. The first one I'm letting in on this. And once I've got you hooked, we'll plan out the rest together." Thoughtfully, "I almost hate saying this, Twilight, especially because it's kind of your department more than mine... for now. But this? Might be the coolest idea I've ever had. And when you think about all the stuff I'm comparing that to..."

Twilight smiled. It was more than a little -- well, cool. For Rainbow to have taken any interest in reading had been fantastic enough (although her shelf range was still incredibly limited and non-fiction, until this incredible night, had remained the realm of "the eggheads"), but to have the pegasus making a tentative venture into another part of Twilight's territory... "So what did you want to look at? And Rainbow -- why couldn't we just do this at the library? The light contamination from Ponyville isn't that bad, and there's a filter spell on the main lens which stops most of it."

"Interruptions," the nearly-wriggling pegasus instantly replied. "I didn't want to take a chance on anypony else dropping by. Tomorrow would have been too busy, with Founder's Day and all." The anniversary of Ponyville's recognition as a formalized, successful settled zone. "There would have been ponies all over the hill, and the fireworks would have messed up the view. Plus I want this secret for now."

The same way she'd initially tried to hide her newfound interest in adventure fiction: once again at all costs, but this time, with a little less in the way of damages. "Got it," Twilight smiled again. "You've got the name, right?"

"Better than that." Rainbow glanced down at the flat thing in the rustling grass again. "Ready?"

Twilight, who'd figured she would be running the initial alignment, nodded. "Ready." Although she still wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to be ready for.

Rainbow's head darted to the right, clenched the lantern's grip and set it down closer to what now seemed to be some kind of metal frame. And much to Twilight's great surprise and delight, called out "Declination: twenty-nine minutes, twelve seconds. Azimuth: thirty-two degrees west."

Twilight blinked. Glanced back over her right shoulder at Rainbow, saw the lantern's glow placing unexpected highlights in the prismatic mane. Felt the surprise deepen, along with the happy warmth spreading through her thin frame. And the smile strengthened. "Got it!"

She double-checked the telescope's mounting on the tripod, lined up on the Nightsun (the brightest star, the core for her favorite of the Ancients and the steering post for just about anypony navigating by celestial sign) for her centering, placed her left eye up to the viewing lens, and began to make her way across the sky. For the numbers had been recognized instantly, and she was about to introduce one friend to some of the oldest companions she had.

The Commander. This smile was internal, and all the stronger for it. Starting on the lower right, but well within the overall configuration. That's the bright blue variable, isn't it? Yes, here it comes...

She could hear Rainbow's feathers vibrating faster now.

"Got it yet?"

The final microadjustment was made. "Yes. Ready to look?"

"No, you're looking. Ascent fourteen seconds."

The blink smudged eyelashes against glass: Twilight instinctively pulled back a little, then levitated one of the six polishing cloths and gave the lens a fast rubdown. Okay... An unusual way to proceed, but Rainbow was new at this, and the order took her to a fainter blue.

"East. Half a degree."

Which would take them outside the Commander. "Rainbow, what am I supposed to be...?"

"Just do it, Twilight! We're getting there!" She could hear the excitement, the sudden, almost desperate need to teach... "It's all going to come together. Not even you're gonna solve the whole puzzle with just three pieces out! Listen to me, and you'll see it in the end! Trust me!"

She just barely got off the nod. But... they were leaving the Commander. Going outside The Barding Of The Ancients. Heading into the unrecognized...

"Are you sure you've got --"

"East!"

By just half a degree.

And they moved along, Twilight's confusion increasing with every new direction. Blues. Yellows. Reds. Brilliant whites. A small portion of the celestial map, but a rather crowded one. And in the end, she heard Rainbow approach from behind her, picked up the echo from sleek hindquarters plopping into the grass on her right, and felt the pegasus beaming with the purest joy Twilight ever hadn't quite seen.

"That," Rainbow half-whispered, volume weighed down by sincerity and adoration, "is the coolest thing ever."

And there was only one thing to say.

"What is?"

A wing nudged Twilight's right flank, perhaps a little harder than it should have. "...what do you mean, 'what is'? You can't see that?"

"Umm... we started in the Barding, but then you --"

The pegasus felt things deeply: Twilight had learned that the hard way. She had also discovered just how quickly those strong emotions could shift. And so the change into exasperation was still abrupt, but it was also something much less than a surprise. "Oh, come on!" The volume was increasing in concert with the frustration, and that same wing nudged her again. "Of all the ponies not to see... fine, we'll take it from the top. Reset. Declination -- declination -- hang on, I've gotta check this thing again..."

Rainbow started to get up. Twilight finally took her focus off the eyepiece. "Rainbow... I'm sorry, but I don't get it. I'm glad you're taking an interest in astronomy and you know I'm more than happy to help you out with any books or lessons, plus I remember more than a few lectures from school and I'm pretty sure I could replicate them exactly if you just let me get my notes from behind the trees, but you just went totally off-course! Everypony knows -- well... um... maybe not quite everypony, but most ponies... who have some -- experience? -- know you have to steer towards..."

The pegasus ignored all of it. Hard hoofsteps pressed into the grass, accompanied by a low-level mutter of "Typical, totally typical, showed her every last piece but it can't be an official solution until somepony holds up the picture on the box..." Her head went down -- an action which wound up being repeated several times as she tried to figure out how to mutually carry lantern and frame without having them slam into each other, with the muttering taking on increasing levels of invective as the former kept sliding off the edge of her left wing. "...oh, just get over here, willya? I guess I just have to show you."

Twilight, completely confused, slowly trotted over. Rainbow pointed a forehoof at the frame lying in the grass, and Twilight looked.

The metal -- silver, and not a particularly high grade, with multiple imperfections and outright warps around the edges, completely unsuitable for anything but use as a frame, and barely even that -- was surrounding a rather partial star chart. A shoddy one, something so imperfect as to make Twilight instinctively pull back a quarter-hoofstep in disgust. The labeling had been done in the wrong font, some of the lettering overlapped major stars, magnitudes were wrong, colors were off, there was one major brand-new stellar configuration on the cheap paper which had no matching companion in the sky, perhaps because it had been painted in wake-up juice stains... and there wasn't a single recognized constellation drawn anywhere within the limited view, when not sketching and naming the Commander would have been a first-year astronomy student's sin, or at least automatic, embarrassing, magic-kindergarten-mandating failure.

But there was a labeled constellation dead-center in the chart. It just wasn't a real one. And the puzzle pieces, matched against the picture on the box, did in fact make everything all right again.

"It's your mark," Twilight smiled, and the relief was echoed in her voice. "Oh, that's fine, just about everypony does that when they start out, at least if they don't want to respect the official ones --" hastily "-- but you didn't take the classes, so you don't know the protocol, don't worry about it. Rainbow, did you draw this out?" It was shoddy, cheap, amateurish, and if she had to be honest about it, downright pitiful -- if it had been coming from a professional. However, for Rainbow to have produced this level of chart on a first attempt...

"Yeah, it's my mark!" The exasperation was fading now, as quickly as it had come. "Cool, right? And no -- the chart was part of the package. That raised the price a little -- okay, more than a little -- but I think it's important, especially once we all match."

The -- price? "...match?"

Which got her an enthusiastic nod as the wings began to vibrate again, that perpetual sense of flight just barely postponed which so often came with a ground-set Rainbow beginning to exert itself. "Yeah! I wanted to do mine first, because somepony had to do a test run and see how it came out! And... well... because I... kind of wanted to be first. Officially. And..." grinning hugely "...I am! First in the books, Miss Egghead, beat you to a published paper! Or chart. But now that we know what kind of work they do, the next step is to get everypony else in on it -- at the unveiling party. Once the whole group is done."

Twilight stared at her. It seemed to be all she was currently capable of. "...published? Rainbow, what are you --"

Which was ignored. "And I didn't even want to let you in on it at first, I wanted to surprise everypony with it, but I thought the most important part was getting me up there because I was probably going to be the hardest to do. But now that my part's done -- I thought you could scout for me! And we could send them orders. Once you locate where we all should be around me -- keeping me on top, of course -- then we just mail them the new charts, they make them official, and we're all up there --"

"-- official?!?"

It had not been a scream. Screams were generally quieter than that.

Rainbow blinked.

"...Twilight?"

Whose right forehoof was frantically gesturing as if trying to toss away a boulder, the narrow rib cage moving in and out far too quickly. "Rainbow... you... you're taking part of the Commander! You can't do that! It would be bad enough if you'd co-opted any of the constellations, but one of the Ancients..."

And, completely confused, "The what?"

The frantically gesturing forehoof stopped moving. Slammed into the grass.

Slowly, "It can't be official. Because you're not an astronomer. Because you took part of an existing constellation and used it for your own. I guess that's fine when you're just imagining something if you make sure you never draw it, or that if you did, your teachers never see it --" she shuddered "-- but it's not real, Rainbow, and -- a price? What do you mean, a price? You found the stars you needed for your mark and paid somepony to make the chart? Because if this was made by a professional, then you --"

Open relief. "Twilight, that's it exactly!"

Temporarily derailed. "...what is?"

"It's official! I'm not an astronomer! I know that! So I paid somepony who is! And they made an official constellation for me! One everypony in the realm will have to recognize! And once it's all seven of us up there together -- I've gotta tell you, that's one of the other reasons I wanted you in on this: I don't know what to do about Spike. There's no way we're gonna leave him out, but he doesn't have a mark and that means we need something which can represent him up there, and it has to be close to the rest of us. As close as we are to each other. So if you could sketch something out on paper, any ideas you might have for that sort of stuff, and then we could kind of just -- transfer it..."

Twilight's ears had locked up at the twelfth word.

"You... paid somepony."

"...yeah."

Too softly, "Who?"

Rainbow's left forehoof carefully flipped the frame over, and Twilight read the words on the back of the chart by both lantern-light and a Moon which suddenly seemed as if it should have been considerably more clouded.

"'The Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry,'" she slowly said. "Rainbow, I've never heard of them."

Which got her a blink. "Seriously? How is that even possible? Since when do you of all ponies skip a page in a book? You always go through publisher, printing, and those dumb blank pages they stick in sometimes for no reason --"

"-- they're in case of autographs --"

"-- whatever -- every time! I've seen you do it! And star charts are the one thing where you skip?" She groaned. "I guess you're just in a hurry to see the updates or something..."

And confused beyond measure, "Updates? Rainbow, what...?"

Magenta eyes stared at her.

"I. Have to teach you. About astronomy."

Twilight very temporarily forced her breathing to slow down.

"Rainbow... tell me how this is supposed to work."

"You've really never heard --"

"-- no." Just a little bit frantic, "Please?"

And now there was the faintest touch of worry in the weather coordinator's voice, a cold tip of doubt indicating the presence of a much larger iceberg drifting into the main shipping lane. "Well... you take a picture of your mark. Then you send it to them. They find the stars which sketch it out and make a chart. And then they register the new constellation. You know... the official way."

She had her breathing under control. None of that seemed to be doing anything for her lashing tail. "And what's the 'official way'?"

"The brochure said they register the new chart with the Canterlot Copyright Office by recording it in book form within the Archives. And then I guess every so often, they send copies of the updated books out to all the astronomers and stuff -- or do you have to pay for those? I never thought about --"

This time, the stop point had coincided with the first period.

"The Canterlot Copyright Office."

"...right..."

"Book form. In the Archives."

"You're doing that repeating stuff thing again."

She wondered if the end of her tail was about to fly off.

"Rainbow, do you know what the Canterlot Copyright Office is?"

The pegasus frowned with careful thought, or at least approximated guesswork. "The... office in charge of making sure the chart was copied correctly? But it's a government office, Twilight! That makes it official! Seriously, how could you have never heard of this stuff? You worked in the Archives!"

And then she understood.

The purple eyes squeezed shut, and the small body sank into the grass.

The sleek cyan one immediately dropped down in front of her, keeping worried company under Moon. Softly, "Twilight? Did --" hesitant, the pause required for the hated words to be forced past the barrier of ego "-- did I screw up?"

A rare sentence. An almost extinct species of admission, fragile life requiring the gentlest of treatment to prevent ego-death. And Twilight didn't know how to tell her without making everything worse.

"I'll fix it," she whispered. "I'm going to fix this..."

"Fix -- what? Twilight, you've gotta talk to me. If I... messed this up..."

Twilight sighed, deep and long -- more than enough time for Rainbow to shift in the grass.

The unicorn felt the wing stretch over her back, and it gave her strength.

Sadly, trying not to lose the feel of the feathers with every forced syllable, "Rainbow... the Copyright Office just registers who owns the creation rights to a book. Or pictures, for illustrated texts. They'll register anything. If it's written or drawn, then it has an owner. That's the only thing they track, in case somepony tries to duplicate the work without permission. And the Archives... they try to keep a copy of everything ever published, in Equestria and beyond. They always get something if they can: it's why they keep asking for more storage space. And if this Registry sends them an officially copyrighted book of star charts with false constellations in them, they would accept and file it -- under Fiction."

She briefly wondered exactly which subcategory of Fiction the book was under -- then felt the wing trembling a little and knew better than to acknowledge it, for the bearer would never admit it had happened at all. "I... I guess you'd know how the library part works. But... Twilight, how do you know it's not official? You've never seen an update volume?"

Heavily, "Never."

Reaching now, "Maybe you're just on the wrong mailing list or something. Or you've never gotten around to the fresh stuff. You've probably been subscribed to it for years and just forgot and never got the chance to crack a volume, I don't even understand how you keep up with half the stuff you do read..."

"I've never seen an update," Twilight sadly said, "because there aren't any. You don't just -- make up a constellation, Rainbow. You can't. There have to be rules." She wasn't sure what those rules were: she'd been told early in her classes that nopony could just create a constellation at will, which meant that rules had to exist for the creation to be considered official -- and at the time, that had been enough. Somehow, it had just -- never come up again. "If anypony could just create one, then they would, and the sky would be so crowded..." Besides, there was proof that the rules existed, and it came in lack of text. "I've never seen anypony get an update volume. Not even my teachers, Rainbow, and they would have if anypony did. Rainbow, I think..."

The hardest words now, and they took as much strength as she had to give.

"...I think you got conned."

She listened to the tiny inhale.

"Horse apples," Rainbow sadly said. "Twilight -- this was supposed to be for all of us. I wanted to -- well, I was thinking about the ruins, and --"

She didn't want to hear any more of Rainbow's future plans. The present portion hurt too much already. "-- how much did you pay?"

Half a whisper. "The base price was fifty-five bits..."

Twilight sharply inhaled.

"...but I wanted the frame, for when we'd all have a matching set. So... two hundred."

And kept right on inhaling until her lungs and ribs began to ache.

"Two hundred bits."

"Yeah. On a prepaid voucher."

"Did you take it directly to somepony, or did you mail it?"

"Mailed. To Canterlot."

So it's close by. And tomorrow was only a local holiday. The library would be closed, along with so many other Ponyville buildings -- but the capital would be fully open for business. "Do you still have the address?"

"At home, yeah. It's in the sales brochure. Twilight -- what are you going to do?"

Twilight stood up slowly, shifting her body carefully so as not to push the wing away too quickly.

"Get your money back."

And maybe a little more than that.

Drawn In Anger

The address was in the Tangle.

There were times when Twilight genuinely forgot how old Canterlot was. The buildings, yes: there were portions of the capital which were effectively impossible to change because any serious attempt to at least clean a bit of patina would draw screams of protests from a dozen self-titled Historical Preservation Societies, who never seemed to care very much about preserving anypony's lungs after they were forced to inhale centuries of untouched dust. But the streets themselves... Twilight generally didn't think about that part, not until the Tangle brought it all back. Because Canterlot had been born in the time before zoning laws and planning boards and the simple idea of laying things out along straight lines, and so this ancient part of the capital featured winding streets of variable widths and twisting curves: go around a bend and greet a five-way intersection of three-lane spiral launches, head down the leftmost one for a mere block and have it narrow to the point where Twilight could barely work her body through -- and she was noticeably thinner than the average adult unicorn mare. After factoring in the laden saddlebags she'd brought along, it had taken a few extremely-short-range teleports to allow her passage, and she'd still wound up backtracking a few times after her map brought her to a location with no ready egress and a total lack of reliable sight lines to the next section: the distorted nature of the buildings which matched the curves of those haphazard lanes also meant shadows often clustered more thickly than they should.

She'd never liked the Tangle. It wasn't just the offense dealt to that part of her mind which always insisted on organization, and the fact that the eastern edge was right up against the Aviary and the other tiny non-pony species neighborhoods had nothing to do with it, at least during those times when the scents of sadly non-distant cooking weren't besieging her nostrils. It was the reputation. Canterlot didn't really have a place where the organized criminal element liked to hang around, mostly because anypony (or anyone) who tried to set themselves up as such was typically spotted and ousted in a hurry -- but those who aspired to the slightly-safer level immediately below that often took up residence in those warped buildings. Families lived in the Tangle, children played in peace while the parents worked -- but worked at what wasn't always the best question.

She was stopped four times during her journey. A group of colts wanted her to kick their ball back. One pony had seen she was lost and offered directions: she'd skittishly accepted, been on her guard the whole time -- and had eventually been led to the proper fork. And two had whispered to her from different shadowed alleys, one offering field booster drugs, and the other tulips. The mare was now in the custody of the police (which had required Twilight working her way back out and then in again, carrying the screaming pusher for blocks until she'd finally gotten frustrated and clamped an extra field bubble around the jaw). The stallion had escaped through throwing his entire inventory in Twilight's snout and fleeing into those shadows while her brain was trying to process the completely unfamiliar scent.

She tried to tell herself she wasn't scared and some of the time, it was even true. There wasn't a lot of room for fear within her. A slow-burning rage had occupied most of the available space.

Twilight had read the brochure. Immediately after teleporting home following Rainbow having brought it to the hilltop, and several times during the train ride in. And every pass-through had made her progressively more furious, an emotion the endless wandering and backtracking and getting lost had done nothing to counter...

But she was at the right building now. She was sure of that. It was process of elimination, really. None of the other street signs had been so harshly scratched as to render the name illegible. And as for the building itself... well, the numbers above the door might have been removed (and probably against the shouted wishes of at least three different Societies), but the imprints from where they had once been were still visible, lighter shadows cast by centuries of blocked weather.

She sorted through her saddlebags, brought out the brochure again.

The Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry

133 Spotted Pup Way

Suite 522

Canterlot, EQ 00001-1074

Twilight squinted up at the prybar-created contrast. Definitely a pair of threes, and since 132 had been on the previous section of curve...

The warped building loomed. It seemed to lean over the narrow road. Twisted windows almost leered.

She glared right back at them, then went through the main entrance.

There was no help desk waiting inside, and she hadn't really expected any. A series of dusty mailboxes adorned one wall, along with a directory which had most of its words rendered as illegible as the street sign through what was starting to become a familiar pattern of scratches. She counted her way along the mailboxes, wiped away a little dust from the glass panel on what seemed to be the proper choice, and saw a wall of paper waiting within.

She found the main ramp. Back and forth, up to the fifth floor.

The building was... quiet. No ponies passed her in the hallways, and she would have expected a little traffic, especially since Sun was now approaching the noon position and it would have been natural for some ponies to head out for lunch. If she strained, she could hear muffled speech, taps of hooves against devices. There was a curse at one point, brief and rapidly hushed. But all of it seemed too distant, and she was alone within worn hallways of a sickly greenish-brown which hadn't seen fresh paint since the building had twisted its way towards the sky, all lit by spells flickering on the perpetual verge of final failure as the last thaums threatened to drain away.

She passed a door labeled #518, with #519 on the other side of the hallway. #520 was next, followed by a long gap, and then...

...#524.

Twilight stopped.

Maybe it had been tucked into a recess during the last curve. She turned, backtracked...

...to #520.

Stopped again.

Her tail lashed twice. The fur of her coat was starting to lie against the grain.

"Don't tell me," she whispered. "No, let me guess..."

She closed her eyes. For the next few seconds, sight would not be important. And reached out, tried to feel...

...the resonance hit her first, almost comically weak, the emotion of dismissal pressing against her thoughts to the point where she was able to imagine words within the pitiful whisper. "It's not here. You must be in the wrong place. Don't bother looking for it any more. It's probably on another floor, another street, moved to another city. Don't bother. It's not worth the effort. Just turn around, give up, forget you were ever here or ever had a reason to come looking, it's not really that important..."

But a whisper was all there was, and so it stood no chance of working on her, especially when she'd picked up on the feel of fading magic twined into it.

A security spell. Illusion coupled with resonance. Somepony doesn't want me finding this place. Doesn't want anypony finding it. I'm not authorized to be here and they want me to go away.

Her expression twisted into a smile, every bit as warped as the building.

Buck you.

Her horn ignited. Glow rushed down the wall, over the nearest even-numbered door, pushing inwards. Ancient paint crackled against the pressure. A few small bubbles burst, pieces of broken domes drifting to the dirty floor. And there was something like a muffled buzzer, and a sound much like a suppressed shout of alarm, and the rattle of a lever...

Seconds later, the door opened, and the occupants of the shabby office, including the three very large stallions at the waiting security desk, were all staring at the slightly-built purple unicorn mare calmly standing in the gap.

"Hello," she calmly said. "I would like to speak to the pony in charge of this establishment. Immediately, if that's at all possible."

The stallions charged.

The pinkish field lanced forward.

There was a sound. It mostly came across as having been produced by three very large bodies being slammed against the ceiling, with a hint of the desks resting on the floor of the office immediately above having been momentarily jolted into the air.

"I understand this may not be entirely convenient," Twilight peacefully added. "However, the instinctive rudeness still feels a little out of place. And I am not going to just wait in a corner until the workday ends. Also, if anypony tries to teleport out, I'll feel it and be slightly offended." Which wouldn't help her if a pegasus business owner went out a window, but the majority of the office's occupants seemed to be unicorns, at least after she took out the three who were trying to deal with the sudden presence of light fixtures in the middle of their broad backs, along with several asteroids. "If all goes well, then this won't take very long. And if all goes poorly, then it'll take even less time. So if there's somepony in particular I should be speaking to...?"

The eight ponies sitting at their drawing tables stared at her over the slanted surfaces. Two were desperately trying to put charts away. There were so many charts. The entire ceiling was a chart, a perfect one, drawn with an expertise which made Twilight want to meet the artist, press her forehoof against theirs, and then spend five minutes in yelled argument about what that party had been thinking to accept the commission. The constellations were filled in perfectly, concepts of what would go around the outlines painted to masterpiece level, the Barding nearly took over her attention all by itself until she noticed that the shadows across most of it had been created by the security pony whom she was pressing into the light which substituted for the Nightsun.

"Any time now," she told them all. "Or should I head directly to that one door?"

The door, at the absolute back of the large room, which had faded brass lettering embossed into the wood, opened. An elderly head poked out, horn-first.

"And you are...?" the speckled white-and-midnight unicorn mare said, shaking what little remained of the thunderstorm mane.

"The pony with a complaint."

"I can see that," the mare calmly replied. "You do realize you are in the middle of committing assault, yes? Or do I need the police to remind you?"

"They charged me first," Twilight steadily countered.

"Did they?" She glanced up at the security ponies, the largest of whom managed a weak nod. "Perhaps they were simply trying to show you the way to a visitor's bench. Enthusiastically. We do get a little nervous when somepony new comes in unannounced, you understand. Still, it's a question of just how it'll be seen, so... I suppose if you're willing to put them down, I'm willing to give you a few minutes. With the understanding that, with the exception of just possibly turning a page or flipping a saddlebag lid, all horns will remain dark. As they should in the case of two ponies having a peaceful, professional conversation."

Twilight made an internal note of the fact that none of the unicorns in the office had even tried to cast any kind of offensive or defensive spell, then nodded.

"Thank you," the mare said. "Now -- about my staff?"

Twilight put them down. Near the back door, where she could see them.

"And again," the mare added. "Very well. With me, if you please...?"

Twilight followed her into the office. The security stallions backed away as she passed.

There was a window, and Twilight noted with small satisfaction that it showed signs of somepony having recently tried -- and failed -- to open it and reach the wide ledge just barely visible beyond. There was a desk. There were accounting ledgers, two full shelves worth. And there was an elderly mare, who took the bench behind the desk and stared at her.

"And what is the nature of your complaint? I believe I can answer it. Or rather, our legal department can, once they return from having made their way out for lunch an hour early under my snout."

Twilight's horn ignited at the partial level, and the instinctive drawing-back of the mare gave her no small pleasure -- but as promised, all she did was flip back the lid of her left saddlebag. "What's your name?"

"Myself? Psevdeis Asterismo. I own this business, or at least I own it for the current generation. My eldest granddaughter will be taking over for me soon, probably in a few moons. I feel retirement approaching, and rather quickly. And you?"

"Twilight Sparkle."

There was no recognition. There hardly ever was, and in this case, it felt like a blessing. "Very well. So, Ms. Sparkle... what can my legal department clear up for you today?"

She ignored what seemed to be a clearly implied threat. "One of my friends recently purchased this work from you." Her field extracted the frame, placed it on the desk.

Ms. Asterismo squinted at it. "Ah, yes. The Silvery Starlight Special. Did she remember to inquire about the bulk rate for all her friends? If she orders at least five more, the price per unit drops to --"

Which was when Twilight realized she'd placed the frame chart-side down. "Look at this." The barely-lesser offense would come first.

Her field flipped the frame over.

Ms. Asterismo stared.

"Oh. Oh, my."

Is this all it takes? Somepony to confront you with your con? Twilight smiled. "Interesting, isn't it?"

"Very." She glanced up. "Ms. Sparkle, you actually have the rarest of things which ever ventures into our offices: a legitimate complaint."

Which made Twilight blink. She -- shouldn't be folding her grouping this fast -- should she? But vocally, she pressed forward. "And what do you plan to do about it?"

"For starters? Open the frame." A weak, quavering white field did so. "I require all my employees to sign their work along the edges, in case I need to check who produced a particular piece. And given that I don't feel like searching the books right now -- ah, there we are, and just who I thought it would be. Luster! Get in here!"

A startled gasp made its way into the room. Half a minute later, a medium-sized teenage midnight-blue unicorn stallion followed it, white tail dragging all the way.

"My youngest grandchild," Ms. Asterismo introduced him. "We're a family business, for the most part. For a very long time now. Luster, I want you to look at this chart. Closely."

The teen squinted.

"O-oh," he stammered. "I remember this one. I just had it mailed out a few days ago. I think it's the very last page in the latest book."

Latest book?

"How nice to know some part of your memory is functional," Ms. Asterismo falsely purred. "I will soon be testing the rest. And is there any reason you remember this particular chart, Luster?"

He was starting to sweat. "It was... complicated. It's not a common mark. I couldn't find anypony in the office who'd drawn it out before. I even went down to the Archives because I was just having that much trouble, but it wasn't anywhere in the stacks --"

Stacks? No, he's just using the nickname for the Archives themselves...

"-- at least that I could find before I gave up on searching. And then I remembered a cluster of stars I could use --"

"Yes, I see that," Ms. Asterismo sharply cut in. "Would you care to name them?"

He brightened slightly. "Oh! That's easy! She wanted it called The Sonic Rainboom Of Loyalty! Grandma, did you ever hear that kind of nonsense before? I read the letter she sent in with the voucher, and talk about an ego --"

Luster abruptly seemed to catch on to the twin facts that not only was there still another pony in the room, but his grandmother was no happier with him than before. They combined to shut him up, and rather quickly.

"Look at those stars," the elder said. "Carefully. And then name them."

Slowly, with great internal pain, as if the words had been kicked out one syllable at a time with the launching hooves going into his diaphragm, "They're -- part of -- the Commander."

"Yes, they are. And what is the rule?"

"We..." The sweat was beginning to transition into froth. "...we don't use any part of the Ancients. But her mark was so complicated, and her letter insisted that the colors had to be right, and honestly, the way she wrote, she didn't come across as knowing anything..."

"And why don't we use the Ancients?"

No answer.

A chipped forehoof pounded on the desk. "Respect! They are the eldest of the constellations! They have been in the sky since the Princess came to us! We respect our history!"

And the rather stunned, extremely stupid teenager weakly said "I thought it was because they were the only ones most ponies would recognize at all."

His hind legs collapsed under the weight of his grandmother's stare.

"Get out," she told him, and he went, dragging himself along with his forehooves.

The elder sighed. Twilight stared at her.

"And I believe you can see," she dryly said, ignoring the disbelieving gaze, "why he will not be taking over the business. My apologies, Ms. Sparkle. While his mind is clearly not up to remembering the actual reason behind our little rule, the fact is that the rule has been broken. I will locate your friend's order in our files and pass her mark to my most accomplished charter instead of entrusting her eternal record to the least. If you're willing to stay for a few hours, I can probably give you a proper version well before the Moon is raised. Or you could just drop back at your leisure, or trust us to mail the replacement -- although I'll certainly understand if your trust has been somewhat injured, along with that of your poor friend. I can imagine her reaction upon seeing that the Commander had been sullied..."

Another sigh, which held no more regard for Twilight's reaction than the first.

"We usually don't do this," she went on, "but I believe I can throw in an upgrade to the meteorite frame, with a protective spell added..."

"It's still a fake constellation! It's a con! You're still ripping my friend off!"

Slowly, Ms. Asterismo got off her bench, never taking her eyes off Twilight's furious face, ignoring the heaving rib cage and bits of filly-like sparks shooting from the horn. Trotted around the desk, came to a stop facing the younger unicorn, eyes fearless.

"I see," she slowly began, "a bit of our brochure sticking out of your saddlebag. You read it, did you not?"

Twilight tightly nodded, which was all she trusted herself to do.

"Then how has my business 'ripped your friend off'?"

She can't... she can't be serious -- she knows...

"It's not a real constellation," Twilight hissed. "It's not official. It's not recognized. It's a con job. I'm an astronomer --" on the hobby level, for the most part, but she'd had three papers published, with two coming from her personal (and interrupted) observations of the previous year's solar eclipse. "-- and I would know."

The elderly mare -- snickered.

"Which explains so much of your reaction," she laughed. "Oh dear, Ms. Sparkle... have your delicate sensibilities been offended? Then let me put your concerns to rest, or rather, send them to court to die along with those of everypony else who ever reached this office. I have conned nopony."

"How can you say --"

"-- at all. Ever. My business has done exactly what it promised to do." The right forehoof made the lightest of stomps against the floor: not threat, but punctuation. "My employees have charted your friend's mark, using the stars as a guide -- in this case, admittedly doing so rather poorly and in violation of our house rule. That chart was registered with the Canterlot Copyright Office in a bound book, and a copy of that tome was then encased in the Canterlot Archives, along with all the rest. We sent her a copy of the chart. With a frame. And that is exactly what we promised to do."

"But you said --"

"No. I did not. I never have, nor did my father, or his grandmother, or anypony in all the time before that. The original words were written very carefully, Ms. Sparkle -- so carefully that in being challenged at trial time and time again, we have never lost. Anything beyond that -- you decided to place there yourself. Your friend as well. And I am hardly responsible for what the two of you decide to imagine, now am I?"

The words she'd read so many times during the ride in were floating within her inner vision. And for the first time, Twilight realized they included phrases she'd inserted into the text herself, editing on inference...

"Is it sinking in now?" Ms. Asterismo snidely asked. "Are you starting to see the folly of your protest? One chart: drawn, registered, archived. We have done exactly what our brochure obliges us to do. What we promise and deliver on, every time. Anything else, Ms. Sparkle... you, and so many before you, did on their own. We provide a service, a service which ponies come back to time and time again, their generations following in step with ours, because they need to remember --"

And her voice softened. The snide expression faded away. Her posture went rigid, purposeful, noble, she seemed to be suffused with energy from within...

"-- and they need to believe in memory," she softly continued, her voice almost regal. "They need to believe -- that outside of the shadowlands, while they wait for the reunion in the waving grass of the last fields, that somepony remembers. Will always remember. That the stars remember."

The aged head slowly shook, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

"Official constellation," she said. "Fools, all of you. And so I will say what I say to all fools, Ms. Sparkle: see you in court. I look forward to yet another victory. In the meantime... I believe your friend will receive her replacement in the mail. I'm not certain I can trust a unicorn of proven high field strength and decidedly low intelligence in my office any longer. So with that said -- get out."

And Twilight, tail tucked between her legs, posture half-collapsed under the weight of failure... left.

Drawn In Sorrow

It was her first time in the planetarium.

Twilight's astronomy teachers had believed in practical methods. Books were used, and the majority of the staff had been skilled enough with illusion to cast images of the sky upon curved classroom ceiling at need -- but for the most part, the true stars had been studied in the open, under Moon and gentle night. There was even a special week-long meeting during the summer holidays just to make sure that particular set of observations wouldn't be missed. And so Twilight had never needed to visit the planetarium, for at those times when the real things weren't waiting for her, books and teachers and devices waiting to trigger a series of review-worthy illusions were.

She didn't feel there was anything particularly wrong with the planetarium, other than -- well...

...there had been no friends at school. No friends at all until the day and extra-long night when she'd first been sent to Ponyville. But there had been classmates, or at least those of her own age sharing a room with her, at least one of whom was always something much less than welcome to be even that close. And teachers. And Spike, waiting in their room for her classes to finish. To that degree, there had always been some level of company, and when the isolation and distance between herself and adopted little brother seemed too overwhelming... there were always the stars.

But here... the illusion was perfect. That category of magic had never been Twilight's strength, was in fact one of her major weaknesses when it came to anything other than replicating something she'd previously seen. But she knew the night sky by heart, and could find no flaw in the imaginary version slowly turning against this particular curved ceiling. There was even a feeling of depth to it, and just the slightest hint of unimaginable distance...

...but the curator had nodded politely to her, activated the projecting device, and left.

She was alone.

She was trying to remember the last time she had felt quite so alone, and years' worth of memories were waiting their turn in the internal line.

Maybe she was bluffing. It was possible. The mare hadn't exactly had a high opinion of Twilight's intelligence. Scare me off, just like she scares everypony else off, because imaginary lawyers can always win an imaginary case. All I have to do is actually get her into court...

But the words...

She'd reread the brochure again. Six times, and twice under false starlight.

...they don't promise. Nothing beyond what the Registry does. Would a court go after them because a pony infers or interprets?

Have they really won before?

Every time?

Wouldn't they have to? Wouldn't one loss shut the whole thing down? So they must not have gone at all... right?

Trial transcripts, just like everything else written under Sun and Moon, were kept in the Archives. It would be easy enough to visit, and she was going to, there was more than enough time left under Sun before the Lunar shift would take over, and still more than that before she had to worry about missing the last train out --

-- but she'd come to the planetarium.

The stars were being made to lie. Twilight had desperately needed a reminder that some version of truth still existed, and simply waiting for Moon-raising had felt impossible. And so she had come to the planetarium, to try and take temporary comfort in perfect illusion.

So far, even that was failing.

Twilight didn't have Rainbow's bits back. All she'd done was "win" a higher class of artistic lie and a meteorite frame, which was probably just tool-pocked iron. And she'd been called stupid -- in a situation where it was so easy to feel that the accuser had been right.

She was talking about generations of customers. She made it sound like they'd been in business for centuries...

How many tricked? How many had simply slowly trotted away following confrontation, as she had done? Was the security spell so weak because it had been forced to confront pony after pony without recharge, over and over and --

-- what am I going to do?

What can I do?

She stared at the false sky, and let the sorrow rise.

And then there were hoofsteps coming into the dome.

Twilight glanced backwards, just for a moment, and found a kind-faced dove-grey pegasus stallion in late middle age, his features marked by the lines of fast-approaching senior years and -- something else, an aspect she couldn't quite pin down. Instead, her eyes automatically sought out the mark and, upon seeing the mortarboard, her forelegs automatically bent as she dipped into the light curtsey which she felt was due to any teacher. The move triggered the smallest of smiles from the honored stallion, and she returned her attention to the illusion.

Probably planning a general class trip: there wasn't anything in his mark suggesting an astronomy specialty. There's no reason to bother him. I shouldn't stay too much longer anyway. I have to get into the Archives, and -- well, it's been too long, I don't know who has which shifts any more, but they can't all be mad at me. Still. I think. I...

More staring. The Commander was prominent in this illusion, just as it was so easy to make out in the sky. If she tried, she could even see the clumsy imposition of Rainbow's mark...

"Who are you looking for?"

Twilight blinked, turned. The stallion had come up on her right, and she'd never tracked those hoofsteps at all. He might have flown the distance, or she simply could have been that lost in her thoughts.

"...sorry, sir? I don't..."

"You had the look," he said. The same tone in his voice: soft, gentle, controlled... and controlled at all costs. "I... see it a lot, in here. You were searching the sky, and..." The kindest of smiles. "...it's a little obvious, miss. What's on your mind."

She sighed. "I think, sir, you've mistaken me for --"

And in perfect, compassionate understanding, "-- which constellation?"

She turned a little more. Stared at him.

"This one," he softly said, "is mine."

His wings spread, and he flew up towards the ceiling, hovered as close to the southern apex of the sky as it was possible to do without cracking his skull on the roof. His right forehoof gently touched the illusion of a pale tangerine star, and it shimmered at the contact. Then the hoof moved right, then down...

She could so easily imagine the lines being drawn. Each move brought the construct so much closer to completion, and by the fifth shift, she knew it was no constellation any true astronomer had ever marked in the sky.

Two partially-melded hearts.

He slowly flew down, landed next to her. Stared up in a certain way.

"My spouse," he gently told her.

And she had no words.

But there were thoughts, and she wanted them to stop. A rushing wave of concepts unleashed coming towards her, words from the office beginning to echo and connect...

"It helps to talk about it," the stallion said, tone offering nothing but the promise of comfort. "You don't have to, just yet. Because... I'm here a lot. I see this a lot. And I know... that sometimes, somepony else has to talk first."

The silence of horror was taken as permission.

"It was two years ago last winter," he told her, eyes on the false mark he'd drawn into the stars. "We hadn't been married long. It was the holiday break, and... she was pregnant. Very far along. But there wouldn't be time for any vacations once our filly came. So we traveled, and -- there was a breach of the air path..."

Her eyes briefly squeezed shut. "Sir... I'm sorry. I..."

The lightest of touches, a mist of feathers against her side. "You weren't there. You're not responsible. It... happened. And that's all."

No words. No words ever could have been good enough.

"The monster... I never even got a good look at it," he quietly went on. "It knocked me out of the path. It saw her as better prey and wanted to get me out of the way. When I flew back... she'd fought it off, but she'd been wounded, too much, too hard, and... she died two days later. But not before giving birth to my daughter..."

Twilight found the smallest of smiles.

Softly, "And she nearly made it to ten days."

Which collapsed.

The stallion's eyes were closed now. "I... I tried for everything there was, to save her. My sister works in the palace, and... well, there's no point to telling you that part. Not yet, anyway. All you need to know is that a fool of a stallion tried to take his own life, and was stopped because the one who knew best in this world and the next had made sure he would be stopped. That he had to live, and make his pain... do something. He just didn't understand what. For moons and moons, he didn't understand anything, and he just wandered through Canterlot, living with his sister, not teaching, not talking, barely eating and breathing, because somepony had told him he wasn't supposed to die and left him to figure out why. And he -- I didn't understand. Anything at all."

"...sir... I..."

"I found the brochure somewhere," he said, eyes slowly opening again. "I don't even remember... and they were cremated. I don't know if you've ever seen western pegasi funeral customs... some believe, after going to the shadowlands, that their bodies should find some way back to the sky. Carried on the heat. I honored that. But it wasn't enough. So I had her mark placed there, and I said it was for both of them, because if my daughter had lived, she would have had that same love. I came here so I could look at it during the day, whenever I wanted to. And during one of those trips... I found another stallion, staring up at the sky."

The forehoof gestured, slowly drawing a courier's saddlebag.

"I knew what he was looking for," the stallion gently went on. "But not who. So we talked -- eventually. It took a few trips, but we talked. And then we each looked for others who were -- staring at the sky. We knew what kind of stare to look for, and... we found so many ponies..."

He looked directly at her then, and she felt her knees bend under the weight of his grief.

"That's why she saved me," the stallion said. "Because... she knew I needed to help others. We meet once a week, or more if there's somepony new, and we just -- talk. I'll understand if you don't want to meet the rest of us yet, or don't even want to admit the need, or the pain... but we're here. I'm here every day. And any time you need us... I promise, we'll be there."

The first tears were starting to come now, and they were not his.

He looked away, just slightly, and only to give her privacy until she openly granted him the right to comfort. And then went back to the first of the false marks.

"It helps, doesn't it?" he asked. "To see them in the sky like that. To know that until we meet again in the shadowlands... that the stars will always remember? Sometimes, I can almost feel them watching me..."

She broke.

She rushed for the exit at full gallop, heart pounding, eyes streaming tears, unable to look at anypony or anything except the way out, and that was nothing more than the most recent lie of the day.

Behind her, the stallion watched her go, and the beating of her hooves against the floor was not enough to block out his last words.

"When you're ready," he gently said. "I'm always here."

Some of the senior Archivists had a bad habit: they might catalog the history of the realm, but it didn't mean they were always in tune with relatively current events.

"Oh, no..." the stallion groaned. "Not you! It's been quiet for so long... I thought we'd seen the last of the Purple Rearrangement Menace! Back, Ms. Sparkle! Get back to the Ancient History department where you belong! You will not work your misguided evil on my department today! Or any other day, or night, ever! Get out --!"

She had to shout. It was the only way to get the words through the improvised fortress he'd made out of books. "I don't work here any more!"

Slowly, the very tip of the violet horn peeked out.

"...really?"

"I haven't worked in the Archives for nearly three years!"

"...it has been rather quiet..." The tension fell back in. "So why would you come back? I can't imagine you'd leave on your own unless you had some fiefdom of your own to terrorize. Unless they finally kicked you out of that!"

"It's for a friend..."

Suspiciously, "Since when do you have friends?"

She managed to keep most of the pain out of her voice. "Sir... Mr. Biblioteca... you know where nearly everything is."

"Nearly? Only if you've been at your so-called work again would it be nearly!"

"And -- I need to find two things. I didn't want to dig through the Stacks or search the most recent catalog entries. I need to be taken directly there. And sir... you're everypony's best hope for that, we all know it, so I came... straight to you, and... sir, please, I need the Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry star chart collections. And any trial transcripts, if they've ever been sued. It's important..."

Slowly, more of the horn peeked out from the gap between dictionaries. Eyes eventually followed, and then the drooping mustache.

Starkly, "The Registry."

"Yes, sir."

"You really do have a friend."

"Yes, sir."

"Because you would never have fallen for this, and your friend did."

She couldn't answer.

He sighed. Books levitated left and right, each one ending up perfectly shelved, at least to his standards.

"You really don't work here any more?"

"I don't."

"Where are you doing your terrorizing these days?"

"...Ponyville."

"Really?" He frowned. "Why would you ever go there?"

"It's... a long story."

"Then I'll wait until somepony decides it's interesting enough to write down. Follow me. And if I see your field moving any book I don't directly bring you, I'm going to backlash you into next week."

Rainbow's chart was on the final page of the very last book in the stacks.

Luster had not been using the nickname.

The Archivist had brought her volume after volume. And then pile after pile, cart after cart, until he'd worked his way back to the original entry.

The earliest copyright...

She stared at it for a while. Automatically turned away so her tears wouldn't stain the page. Then decided she didn't care about this particular page and furiously spun back.

There were so many books. They surrounded her. The columns threatened to collapse inwards and crush her. And she took them down one tome at a time, let her field flip the pages. She'd quickly learned to look to the lower right corner, and the same words appeared again and again.

In Memoriam.

In Memoriam.

In Memoriam.

In Memoriam.

In Memoriam...

Some pay from ego. To believe that their marks will shine down on the world long after the bearer passes into the shadowlands. Thinking that generation after generation of stargazers will be forced to gaze up at them and think about who they were.

But most... pay from sorrow.

Because the bearer of the mark went into the shadowlands first, and they can't follow. So they place the mark of the lost in the sky so they can look at it and remember. Having generations of stargazers ask who was being honored is just a bonus, and one most of them probably never think about too much, until the very end. It's enough that they can look, and occasionally show somepony else just where their loved one is in the sky...

Superimposed on top of everypony else's loved ones.

Marks repeated. A very few were unique to the current generation, while a tiny number had appeared only once during the era of the Princess. But for the most part, the same icons could be found on many flanks, especially when viewed across the breadth of the centuries. And so those who drew the charts had seen no need to give everypony a separate portion of sky. There was one courier bag, and it was sent out to a thousand mourners. Those who sat at the drawing boards in the office mostly copied master designs, and sometimes threw in a different color of ink, probably for their own amusement.

And when somepony catches on...

The other piles were trial transcripts. And they all ended with the same words.

Plaintiff: lost.

This is... monstrous. This has been going on for so long, and it'll go on forever with more and more ponies getting hurt, the courts can't do anything, I can't do anything, who could even try to --

And the thought came.

On the very rare occasions when the thought came at all, it was generally pushed back, at speed. Twilight had, to a large degree, trained herself not to think of it, even in the middle of the most desperate crisis. Not when she was at risk of any kind or degree, not when her friends and family were involved (although it shoved much harder at her then), not for anything. Because the relationship was student and teacher, and at the near-top of the checklist for Twilight's many terrors was that the best way to break that connection once and for all would be by turning it into wielder and weapon.

Not for herself: she wasn't enough. Not for brothers or parents, although that hurt more when she stomped the idea back into the dark. Not even for friends, and both conditions had sometimes left her with the deepest of agonies as she questioned herself to what suddenly seemed to be a very flawed core, one which wasn't worthy of having any of the above.

But now... now, thin body huddled in the shadow of columns created by the agony of thousands, with all of it pressing in on her, bales upon bale-tons of invisible, impossible weight...

...now, for the first time, the inner wall cracked.

You have lawyers. You have transcripts which say over and over again that you're right and there's nothing anypony can do about it.

But me? I can't take you to court. I can't destroy your offices without being arrested myself. All I can do is one thing, Ms. Asterismo.

I can go right over your mane.

Drawn In Loss

She paced back and forth in the waiting area, moving in and out of the Sun-patches which had streamed their way into the palace.

Twilight was already second-guessing herself. Not as to whether this course had been the right action to take: she felt it had to be, in large part because it was the last action she could have taken. But the damage... what she might be about to do, the never-healing injury inflicted on herself in the name of righting this wrong...

She thought about all of the ponies, living and lost, and told herself it was worth it. Or at least -- justified. And even then, it still hurt.

The palace had been entered at a full-scale gallop: most of the Guards knew the Bearers on sight by now and had instinctively let her through. She'd skidded to a halt in front of the first one she'd recognized, babbled out -- something. She wasn't quite sure what she'd actually said. But it seemed to have been effective, because the Guard had asked her to wait before flying away...

I don't have to worry about hurrying. It's not as if the Registry is going anywhere.

Yet.

And then they'll just be Going Out Of Business...

The thought put a grim smile on her face. And she waited.

The yawn sounded from behind her. It was a very large yawn. It came with built-in reverberations and a light touch of optional echo. It instantly dominated the room and, if left to itself, would have occupied half the world's hours with no effort whatsoever. "Very well. And now, I believe I shall require something in the way of detail..."

Twilight spun, a movement which was almost entirely done on her right forehoof, and so the sudden twisting nearly sent her into the floor. "Princ -- Luna? I -- I came to see -- I asked for..."

"You arrived," the younger of the Diarchy yawned, "in something of a hurry. And from what Glimmerglow related, you were yelling something about the criminal misuse of stars. Or perhaps it was stars performing criminal acts: I understand that you were speaking rather quickly. For reasons known only to herself, my sister's Guard somehow decided that put the supposed crisis in my dominion. And so I was woken, rather too early, and somehow find the Sun-lit sky above me to not be collapsing. Or robbing, frauding, murdering, or anything else in the category of crimes, with the possible exception of deliberate intent to inflict blindness. You called for a Princess, Twilight Sparkle, and now you have one. So as said crisis seems to be rather less spectacular than implied... what, exactly, is happening that you felt the need to involve my sibling?"

Only half of Twilight's attention was focused on putting together some sort of answer. The rest was dedicated to the composition of her farewell letter. "Luna... I'm sorry, I didn't mean --"

"There is a problem." A statement of fact.

Twilight managed a external nod. The inner portion was trying to pick out a new place to live, and had already rejected most of the eastern coast.

"One you truly felt required the intervention of a Princess." Another.

The same response. Most of the western islands had now been crossed off.

"When you have never done this before." The absolute acknowledgement of truth.

The Empire would require more knowledge of their sanctuary policy than she currently had...

"Then would I not have to presume it is truly important?"

She forced a breath. "Luna... I couldn't think of anything else... anypony... and..."

"You are aware that you are sweating?"

"...no."

Softly, "Is it me you are afraid of? Having me here instead of my sister? Or simply that you have done the wrong thing by calling on us at all, and the consequences which might come from that?"

The Princess' mane was very nearly stable. The temperature in the room hadn't dropped by a single degree. With Luna, both were extremely good signs. But...

"...the consequences."

Luna nodded, exactly once. "Thus far, the only consequence is that I will lose some sleep. The nature of the problem, Twilight Sparkle. Slowly, as we seem to have some time. And then we will see what is to be done."

Twilight took her breaths one at a time. Bound the words together, made each one tow the next out under Sun in a seemingly-endless chain of draining effort. The Princess of the Night stood still, listened to all of it, and as Twilight related the portion which had taken place in the office, the temperature did begin to dip. By the time she reached the planetarium, it had become a plummet, and the Archives found most of the palace windows glistening with frost.

And as the Princess listened, her eyes seemed to become weary. Tired. Old.

"Is that all of it?"

"...yes."

"Then there is no need to trouble my sister for now, as we are in fact within my dominion." Dark eyes scrutinized Twilight. "You have not eaten. You have raced, read, fretted, and taken on the pain of others for your own -- without solace, thought to your own condition, or opportunity for rest. You are to go into the kitchen of your choice and request a meal. They will provide it. Should a rather red-coated young unicorn stallion of our mutual acquaintance ask if you would like to try something different, I advise you to say no. I will research while you recover. Give me an hour or so for that, perhaps more. And then we shall talk again."

Twilight blinked. "Your dominion? Luna, I don't understand what you mean..."

The younger alicorn smiled -- but it never reached her eyes. "And not even Twilight Sparkle can be bothered to remember her early lessons on the division of the Courts. I cannot even feign surprise... Fiction is nothing more than dream crystallized in ink, and so it falls under my dominion -- along with copyright law."

Which was when the entire day caught up to Twilight, and she found her legs starting to quaver.

The dark blue field propped her up, stars swirling around every joint. "Rest. I trust your words -- but I will need to see the exact composition of the brochure's crucial sentences, and to gain a personal understanding of the previous trials. And your only duty while I attend to that portion of mine, will be to restore yourself. To the kitchen, Twilight Sparkle. Or need I carry you?"

"No, I can..."

"...not be trusted to make that decision," Luna decided, and the field spread to surround Twilight's body before lifting her away from the marble. "Oh, and I recommend the ice cream."

It had been hours. Sun was still up, but not for much longer. And finally, Luna had come to fetch her.

"Next to me," the Princess said. "In contact." The tones were completely neutral, and would remain so for as long as they were in public view.

Twilight slowly trotted over. "We're teleporting?"

A nod. "I am escorting you." A glance around the frustration-filled kitchen, which Twilight, who had been growing desperate for something to do, had begun to reorganize. None of the cooks had seemed to understand the obvious benefits of storing their equipment in alphabetical order. "I would prefer to do the next part in privacy."

Twilight nodded, came closer. Luna stretched out a wing --

-- a moment between, and they were in the gardens.

Twilight generally avoided the gardens. Botany had never really been her interest, topiaries generally just sent her into inspection mode as she checked for protruding buds, and... well, there had been a statue. And then there had been a maze, and everything which had happened within. Then a statue again, and... now, for just the last few weeks, there was not.

The gardens put too many thoughts in Twilight's head, and few of them were welcome to be there.

But Luna had brought them in at a private, isolated spot. One themed to the plants of home, and not Ponyville. Twilight breathed deeply at the sight of familiar blossoms, and the oldest scents she knew briefly carried her to a place of hope...

"I reviewed," Luna said, and trotted out of contact, nodding for Twilight to follow. "I went over many of the transcripts -- hardly all, of course, but more than sufficient to comprehend what they have done and how they have managed to continue doing it. I viewed a number of their collected charts. I did not visit their office directly: there was no immediate need. But will you trust that I have studied and understand the situation as it currently exists?"

Twilight, trotting one body length off to the right, nodded.

The dark eyes closed. The alicorn stopped moving.

"They are legal."

And Twilight had expected that. "I knew they had to be," she rushed. "That many judges... they couldn't have all gotten it wrong. So what's needed is new laws. Something which will block them --"

"-- they do," Luna softly cut in, "as they promised."

Her eyes opened. She trotted onwards.

Twilight scrambled to follow, and for a moment, the strangeness of it came to her. In the gardens, with Luna, under Sun, even with the orb so low in the sky...

"But ponies... when they read the words, they imagine something different! Something they have every right to believe! And that's not what they get! It never can be, because the constellations aren't official!"

Luna stopped.

"Sit with me."

"Princess?" A slip, and one she felt the need to immediately apologize for. "Luna, I don't ---"

"-- we keep a few benches scattered through the gardens, here and there. Ones large enough for myself and my sister to use. One of the latter should be more than enough for us to sit and face each other, although it would be best not to tell her that. Sit with me, Twilight Sparkle... please."

Twilight, who saw it as an order, nodded. And they trotted until they found one of those benches, and sat among the scents of home.

Luna tucked her legs under her body. Several times, as if she couldn't quite seem to find a good position, and then finally gave up. The dark eyes rested their steady gaze on Twilight again.

"What laws," Luna asked, "am I meant to propose and sign?"

"Laws against lying!"

"They do not lie." It was soft, far too soft for Luna... "We have seen that."

"But... what ponies think they're going to do --"

"-- am I to pass a law banning belief?"

Twilight searched her core for words, and there were none to be had.

"Ponies," Luna quietly said, "believe what they wish. Sometimes in spite of all evidence to the contrary. At others, when they feel they have been challenged, because of all evidence to the contrary. I understand how some of my citizens would believe they were purchasing a 'true' constellation." (And Twilight heard the quotes.) "When a moment of thought or research would prove they were not. But I cannot legislate thinking, Twilight Sparkle. There is no law to bring on rationality. I cannot ban the naming of fictional constellations for profit, for to do so would steal a tool from our speculative fiction writers, and it would be rather difficult to make retroactive in any case, with a poorly-worded grandfather clause becoming self-defeating. I cannot mandate that all ponies considering such a purchase do their own investigation first, as most of those who would buy their own stars would ignore such a law in the first place. I might be able to force through a -- warning, of sorts. An extensive explanation of what is meant by the offer, and what is not. Which the Registry would print -- in the smallest of text, buried under the brightest of illustrations. Most ponies would ignore that. Every time. Because... they believe what they wish..."

Urgently, "But you can also mandate the size of the text, and the placement, you can make them repeat it on every page until ponies understand --"

"-- that something the palace appears to be so against must be something everypony should have?" A slow head shake, the stars in the gradually-shifting mane set off by deepening shadows. "Some will think that way. How do you propose that I stop it?"

"But -- ponies are being hurt by this -- more and more every day..."

Not a whisper. Luna didn't whisper, and so a whisper was the last thing it could have been. "Are they?"

"When they find out!"

"Do they all find out?"

There had been many trial transcripts. Many... when considered over centuries. "No... but..."

"Ponies believe, Twilight Sparkle. Sometimes... because they so desperately need something to believe in. Something which cannot be my sister or I, should never be..."

Twilight blinked.

"I don't understand, Luna."

It got her a tiny smile. "And part of me wishes... that you never will."

Confused, "But I really don't --"

The rising forehoof cut her off. "They believe... because the soul needs belief. Sometimes, even belief in doubt. Or..." and the word was nearly spat "...faith."

"Luna, this is about --"

''-- do you believe in the shadowlands?"

A cool spring dusk, and getting cooler as the Sun continued to descend. The temperature drop had nothing to do with Luna, and everything to do with what was going on in Twilight's heart.

"Yes," she simply said, and her soul waited in dread.

"Even though you have never been there. Never known anypony to come back and tell the living what it is like. You believe in the final fields."

"Yes." And dread became terror. "Luna... should I?"

Stark now. "I have no right to tell you what to believe."

And Twilight, who had passed beyond terror, gave it right back to her. "Do you?"

Silence, long enough for the shadows to visibly darken.

"Yes."

Somehow, the answer brought no comfort.

"Luna... how do you know? Did anypony ever --"

"-- the shadowlands exist," Luna softly said. "The fields are there. Ask me nothing more, Twilight Sparkle. It is not a subject where one can speak too deeply based in knowledge. I wish to think of myself as a rational pony, one who judges based on the evidence of the real... and so this is a topic we shall, at least in part, drop."

The final word had been as soft as all the others. As controlled. And it still nearly shattered the bench.

"Fajr," Luna said, "has a belief --"

"...who?"

"The stallion who spoke to you at the planetarium."

"You... know him?"

"Of him," Luna said, and the dark eyes seemed to momentarily flash. "He believes that his spouse and daughter have been immortalized in the sky. It gives him comfort. And in that comfort... he finds a reason to exist: to bring whatever degree of peace he has found to others. The ponies who meet in his group speak to each other, talk of the lost... and that, as much as the stargazing, makes them feel as if the lost are with them still. What would happen if we were to tell him the truth? That he had been conned, that nopony other than himself and those he had shown the pattern to would ever think of his lost family at all? I spoke to ponies while you recovered. One of them was the planetarium's manager. He knows of the con, for so many ask him to help them search the false sky. And he would rather die than break it, for he fears that to tell those ponies would bring death..."

She was whispering now. "...suicide?"

"Peace can be fragile." Luna's eyes closed, opened. "I could legislate something to warn ponies. I could put the story in at least half the press, and perhaps all of it if the other side decided to berate us for overlooking this over so much time. I would save the bits of so many ponies to come... while harming an untold number in the current nights, by taking their belief away. What should I do, Twilight Sparkle? Mourn the loss of bits for those who do not think the first time, but take away their education of learning how to avoid a second -- or mourn another kind of loss entirely?"

Sun was almost all the way down now.

"Luna -- it's a lie... everything they're taking their comfort from is --"

"-- and yet they find comfort. And that peace harms nopony. What should I do, Twilight Sparkle? Tell the truth, and let the false stars fall where they may? How many true bodies drop with them?"

Go up. Lock the wings against the sides. Come down.

She was shaking now, and Luna looked at her with silent concern -- but did not move. Did not speak.

"Luna... I don't know what to do. You were my... my last hope..."

"No," Luna quietly corrected her. "My sister was. And if you spoke to her... she would defer to me, in my dominion. Oh, we would consult. She would ask, very carefully, what I intended to do. And she would wonder when the bodies would begin to fall. Save the bits of ponies in the future, at the price of watching souls pass into the shadowlands in the present."

And the second-worst part was the sincerity in Luna's next question.

"What should I do, Twilight Sparkle? Should I do anything at all?"

The worst part was having no answer.

The last tenth-bit of Sun began to slip below the horizon.

"It is... nearly my time," Luna said. "You should leave. Teleport home."

"I can't..."

"You have never attempted the journey from Canterlot?"

Twilight shook her head. It was something to do other than think.

"Then I will summon an air carriage for you. Shortly. It has been a long day, and you should not have to deal with the train. The Guards will fly you home. For now -- I believe your feel is fairly acute, is it not?" She didn't wait for the nod. "Then leave me."

"Why? I went to a Summer Sun Celebration -- I was really close to Princess Celestia when she was working, and all that happened was that I felt her raising --"

"-- I am told," Luna cut her off, "that it can be a disconcerting experience. One I wish to spare you. Leave, Twilight Sparkle. And that is an order."

Slowly, Twilight got up, left the bench. But not the garden.

"Luna..."

Tensely, "You appear to still be here."

It was the last protest she had to give. "...they're not real constellations."

Luna looked away from her. "What is a real constellation?"

Confused, horribly confused, looking for any buoy to keep her from drowning and finding facts ready to keep her from going under in the flood of emotion, "It's a recognized pattern of stars, honored by astronomers over the centuries, recorded, taught to ponies --"

"-- and who put it there?"

"...Princess?"

It was the last time Luna would look at her on that day verging into night, and for weeks to come.

"A constellation," Luna told her, "is a pattern somepony drew in the stars to remember those who were lost... a long time ago." And the thunder hit in perfect concert with the final word. "Leave."

Twilight left. She fled. Her legs accelerated into full gallop, she got out of the area and partway down the path and --

-- stopped.

She started to turn back --

-- and the resonance hit her, the emotional residue from the sheer power used in raising the Moon washing into her soul, pooling into words...

...the safety of the day is a lie

Monsters walk under Sun, and some wear pony skins

To guard against them, one stands ready

But other monsters move under Moon, seek their prey by starlight

Dark things travel through the night

I know, for I am one of them

And to all those who journey beneath my sky to prey upon my charges, beware

For I stand against you

And in time, you will meet me coming the other way...

Twilight collapsed to all four knees, just barely got her head up...

She saw.

Drawn In Memory

It was an hour after sunset on the following night, and they were back on the hilltop. Twilight had brought the picnic blanket and spread it out on the grass. She hadn't bothered with the telescope.

"I'm sorry." They were the only words she had, and they weren't enough.

Rainbow lay alongside, on her streamlined back, stretched out. She had been oddly silent while Twilight related the events, and seemed determined to stay that way for some time.

"Rainbow?"

"Just... thinking." The magenta eyes would not meet hers. "I think sometimes."

"I tried..."

Calmly, "I know you did. I'm not mad at you, Twilight. The only pony I'm mad at is... no, that's gonna be a lie. I hate that Ms. Asterismo, and I don't think I'm going to head into Canterlot for a while, just in case I find myself flying through the Tangle without really meaning to. But I'm mostly mad at me. Because I didn't think about what I was reading. Because I fell for it. Because I'm..." and the drop into whisper, the final word too soft to make out. The sleek body flopped to one side, facing away from Twilight, with the resulting wing compression ignored.

"Rainbow, talk to me... please..."

And in a burst of outwards-facing rage, "...stupid, all right? I'm stupid. I'm the dumbest pony in the group. You know it, I'm just barely smart enough to know it, everypony knows --"

This shout was of protest. "You're not!"

"Prove it!"

"All the stuff you've picked up so fast since we started? All the things you can think about in midair, the adjustments? How quickly you adapt during a fight? You're not stupid, Rainbow! You're just a different kind of smart!"

Her friend wouldn't look at her.

"You figure out things which I never could," Twilight softly told her. "Stuff none of us can get a mouth grip on. Lots of ponies have fallen for this con over the centuries, Rainbow. Some of them... needed to. Being tricked doesn't make you stupid. It just makes you... real."

The trim neck twisted towards her. "Real?"

"...maybe that was a bad word..."

But Rainbow was grinning. "Real? And what was the other option?"

"Blueblood?"

The single burst of laughter emerged as a fierce, grass-shifting snort. "Yeah. Okay, I'll take real..." And onto her back again.

They stared at the night sky for a while. Rainbow had cleared out the clouds again, and they were both waiting to get caught.

"Sorry you missed Founder's Day."

"Me too."

"You always miss Founder's Day."

"I know."

"What do you think Luna's going to do?"

Twilight sighed. "I don't know. I know she's... thinking. I know she'll talk to the Princess. But... they don't have an answer for everything, Rainbow. I always thought they would be the last resort for anything, but then there was the fight against Chrysalis and..."

she was down and the world was broken

"...last night."

Rainbow slowly nodded. "Yeah."

Back to looking at the sky.

"I was thinking about the ruins," the weather coordinator said. "Before I did it."

"Sent the voucher off?"

Rainbow nodded. Wouldn't look at her. "I was thinking about how they're just -- there. And nopony really remembers why, or how they got that way in the first place. Somepony may have called it the Castle Of The Two Sisters... but nopony's ever said those sisters were the Princesses. Nopony asks them about it. And... nopony remembers..."

Twilight, whose subconscious had been very careful in instructing her how not to ask certain questions, was silent.

"We've got the windows in the Hall Of Legends," Rainbow went on. "But... windows break, even rock crystal ones. I check the bookstore all the time now, and... nopony's telling our stories. Nothing's been written down. Sometimes I even think --" and a total midair braking to avoid collision with a forbidden secret.

"What?"

"Nothing. Maybe later."

And it was all Twilight was going to get out of her. "So you were thinking about the ruins."

She could hear how hard the words were for Rainbow to say, how every one had to be forced out with a push equivalent to a dozen Sonic Rainbooms. "And how... anything can get ruined. Books go out of print. Castles fall. Ponies... forget. Everything we did together, all the adventures, all the missions, even the silly stuff... it could get... lost. Like the castle. But the stars, Twilight... they're forever. So I paid for me, to see what kind of work they did... and then, after you helped me pick everypony else's places out... I was gonna save up. And have all of us up there together in time for Hearth's Warming Eve. Because..."

Eventually, Twilight realized Rainbow was waiting for her to finish it. "Because the stars remember."

"Yeah." A bitter laugh. "Except they don't. Anything. Ever."

"Maybe they do," Twilight said, and was surprised by the words.

"Prove it."

"I can't. Maybe... I just want to believe it."

They lay side by side in silence for a while. The grass rustled around them.

"Rainbow?"

"What?"

"It really was a great idea for a gift."

"Whatever. It's not real."

"Maybe it's as real as it has to be. We can pick out the stars, and I can draw the charts up. We can even get somepony to frame them, for a lot less than two hundred bits each."

"So?"

Half-prompting, half-teasing. "I see a cluster over there which could be the red edge of your bolt."

"And?"

"They're brighter stars than everypony else is going to get."

Rainbow looked. "Oh... yeah! And there's some yellows right next to them, and a few blues! Hooves sketched against the sky. "Yeah, that could totally work! So who's next?"

"Me." Twilight looked. "Okay, I see one there which--"

"-- ah, you're cheating." It wasn't unkind.

Twilight took mock offense. "And how am I cheating?"

"Your whole mark is stars. Everywhere you look, there you are..."

Twilight giggled, and they went to work. Sparklers for Rarity. Variables for Pinkie. It took forever to pick out Fluttershy's cluster, as those stars seemed to be hiding from them. Spike was comparably easy: Twilight knew a few which were noted for flares. The steadiest shines made up Applejack...

...or almost did.

"We can't use that last one. Shift left."

"Why? It's just about perfect."

"You're back in the Commander again."

"Oh. Yeah. That one's my favorite."

"You only learned about it two nights ago."

"So it's been my favorite for two nights. I learned to steer by stars when I had to in school, but nopony ever bothered with group names... at least, not that I can remember... So what's your favorite?"

"The Magician." Twilight gestured along the Barding, going to the leftmost edge before demonstrating the sketch. "I've always liked it."

"You would." A long pause. "Twilight?"

"What?"

Hope and despair in equal measure. "Do you really think anypony will remember us?"

Twilight's eyes moved right again, still fixed on the sky.

"The Princesses will."

And Rainbow smiled.

"Yeah, they will. Okay. New position for Applejack..."

Twilight listened, made suggestions, most of which were ignored. But she had been reminded, and so only half her attention was on the current sky. The rest had returned to the previous night. To being on all four knees in the gardens, getting her head up under the freshest of waning Moon-light and seeing...

...Luna.

Still on the bench.

Facing the exact position where the Commander was starting to phase into the new night sky. Staring at that place in a certain way.

And the single tear falling away from her left eye.

Author's Note

Based on the ongoing, unstoppable lie of the International Star Registry. Please don't give them any money. Ever.

The concept for this story was originally mentioned in a blog post. As such, Daedelean, metallusionsismagic, Singularity Dream, Georg, and Walabio made contributions to its final structure.